


Indulge

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, M/M, Overeating, Stuffing, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you need to stop, you can,” Sherlock said quietly, rubbing the distended organ lightly. “You’re huge.” </p>
<p>John nodded and considered for a second, short of breath. He burped again and pressed a hand to his belly, which was hot beneath his palm. “I c’n finish,” he said, and took the ice cream again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulge

**Author's Note:**

> What have I done.

“Come on,” Sherlock encouraged. “You’ve barely eaten more than a usual meal consists of. You can eat more than that.” He held out another sandwich quarter. 

“Did it occur to you that I usually eat my fill and then quit? There’s a reason I stop at that point, berk. It’s because I’m _full._ ” John reached out and begrudgingly took the sandwich, tearing off a corner and chewing and swallowing. 

“While your reasoning is sound, I’ve witnessed your full capacity before, and you’re nowhere near that limit. We’re _playing,_ John. Have a bit of fun.” Sherlock watched John chew and swallow the sandwich with rapt attention. 

John had been an avid fan of what he learned was commonly called ‘stuffing’ since he was a teenager. There was something about the reaching of a limit, the indulgence of overeating, that appealed to him. And, of course, feeling fuller than full and being visibly swollen with it - well, that played no small part. 

John took another sandwich quarter and kept eating. He was still in buttoned trousers and his jumper, because Sherlock liked seeing John have to lose his garments to accommodate his stomach. The trousers were getting a little tight, but not uncomfortably so. Not yet. 

“Water.” Sherlock held out a glass, and John took it. He was already on his second glass of the night, and would switch to a different beverage soon. Changing it up kept things interesting. Sherlock had fizzy soda and milk on standby. “Good boy,” the detective praised, taking the glass once John had drained it. He set it aside and pushed the plate of sandwiches closer. 

John grinned as his face flushed. The praise wasn’t part of the kink - not for him, at least, but he did appreciate it. He finished off the sandwich quarter and reached for another. “Gonna be sick of egg salad by the time this is done,” he sighed, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out. 

“No doubt. But it’s the easiest to eat quickly. Very little tedious chewing.” John snorted. Of course chewing was boring. “What next?” 

“Applesauce.” John pointed with one finger to the big bowl in the center of the table. There were a few sandwich quarters left, but he was getting tired of egg salad. He’d finish them later. 

By the time John had taken the last swallow of the egg sandwich, Sherlock had the bowl poised and ready for John. John took the dish and the large spoon, resting the bowl on his chest and tucking in. The applesauce was even easier to eat - John could suck it down almost as easily as he could a beverage. 

John jumped when he felt Sherlock’s fingers tugging at his waistband, slipping between the denim fabric and his skin. “What’re you doing?” he asked, stifling a burp and moving the bowl to peer down. 

“Just checking,” Sherlock replied, tugging at the fabric again. “Getting tighter.” 

“Perv,” John grinned. “By the time I’m done with the applesauce, i’ll be ready to unbutton them. Unless you want me to really push it?” 

“Push it,” Sherlock said, eyes pooled black. The grin he sported was wicked. 

John pushed it. Gone was the applesauce, the rest of the sandwiches, and John was halfway through a bundle of grapes. His stomach was pushing over the waistband of his trousers, and Sherlock couldn’t get his fingers in between the fabric and John’s stomach. The doctor groaned and swallowed another grape, then laid both hands on his stomach. “They’ve gotta go.” 

“Let me touch first?” Sherlock asked, and John nodded. Sherlock pushed his shirt up to rest on the topmost curve of his stomach and then smoothed his hands over the bulge he’d uncovered. John inhaled and Sherlock shivered - he could feel the way John’s stomach strained outward against his skin when his lungs filled with air. He could feel John’s grin, too, and he pressed down a little against John’s stomach, until John winced. “You’re getting full.” 

“I _am_ full,” John corrected, tapping the center of his stomach. “But I can get fuller if you let me take off these trousers.” The skin beneath his finger slid when he moved his finger around, but the bulge beneath didn’t have much give. John felt a shiver run across his skin. Things were getting fun. 

Sherlock put his fingers to work on John’s trousers, but stopped short of opening the button and zip. “Suck it in,” he said. 

John met Sherlock’s gaze and then looked down at his belly. He exhaled and then sucked his abdominal muscles in, groaning at how tight they were over his stomach. The bulge moved as one unit. John clapped a hand to his belly to help his muscles hold it in. 

Sherlock took his time undoing the button and zip, and when he finally finished, John let go and sucked in a lungful of air. From his point of view, it looked like his stomach had doubled in size, and he groaned, rubbing his aching belly. “You’re such a fucking tease.” 

Sherlock was rubbing John’s stomach through the open vee of his jeans. “You like sucking it in,” he countered, and John had to agree. Being so full he couldn’t hold his stomach in flat was beyond arousing. 

Soon, they moved from the kitchen to the sofa, John starting to develop a bit of a waddle as he walked. His stomach stuck out in front of him, leading the way into the room, and John gave it a few rough rubs before sinking down onto the couch. This was his favorite part - the bulk of the eating was over, and now Sherlock would feed him nibbles while they watched telly, just to see how much he could eat. When John was distracted and Sherlock fed him, he could eat far more than he could manage when he was focused on eating by himself. 

They put season three of Criminal Minds on, and John settled in, laying on his back with his head pillowed in Sherlock’s lap. He turned his attention to the show, and let Sherlock feed him. 

In the lull between episode two and three, John turned and looked up at Sherlock, rubbing his stomach and feeling how much more it had swollen. “Inventory?” he asked. 

Sherlock cleared his throat and started to list off what John had eaten so far. “The sandwiches (there were four), a jar of applesauce, two glasses of water, the bag of grapes, a glass of milk, and we’re halfway through the pudding.” 

“Cor. No wonder I feel heavy.” John rubbed his stomach and stared down at the mass. From his point of view it arced upward like a bowl, and he could feel the stretch every time he drew in a breath. “What else have we got left?” 

“The rest of the pudding, and the soda, and ice cream, if you want it.” 

“We’re _playing,_ Sherlock,” John teased. “If you think I’m stopping now, you’re duller than I thought.” 

They set the pudding aside, and Sherlock went to get the ice cream and soda. John set to work hauling himself upright, which was quite a task. He clapped a hand to his belly as he sat up, breathing out heavily. “Ready for this?” he asked his stomach, patting it lightly as he removed his shirt. It gurgled in response. 

“It had better be.” Sherlock set the bottle of soda down on the coffee table, and handed John the whole container of ice cream and a spoon. “Poor tummy, it has a half-gallon of ice cream to fit in yet.” 

“Tummy can handle it. Can’t you, tummy?” John rubbed the solid mass, patting it fondly. 

“I’ll take tummy-rubbing duties. You take eating duties,” Sherlock said, putting his hands on John’s stomach and rubbing it lightly. 

“A fair trade,” John reasoned, and started to eat. 

They almost always finished off with a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream and root beer, simply because the combination of the two made a delightfully fizzy finish to a stuffing session. However, John was fairly certain he’d never been this full when attempting the half-gallon of ice cream and liter of soda. Tummy confirmed this by starting to ache when John was only a few large spoonfuls into the ice cream. “Tummy is not sure it can handle it anymore,” John said, stifling a burp. 

“Oh, come now, tummy. I know you can do it.” Sherlock kissed the tight skin of John’s stomach, continuing to rub it softly. John drew in a breath, feeling his skin stretch, and nodded. 

Purely for effect, John hauled himself to his knees on the sofa, so his stomach was suspended in front of him. He appreciated the effect. Sherlock also appreciated the effect. Tummy did not appreciate the effect, as it no longer had any more support. John ignored tummy’s input. 

He set the ice cream container aside for a moment, feeling very, very full. “Need the soda,” he said, burping again and holding out his hand for the bottle. Sherlock obliged, unscrewing the cap and giving it to John. 

John inhaled and then started drinking the soda, grunting quietly as he sucked it down. He was now absolutely certain he’d never been this full, because he’d never gotten so out of breath simply by drinking a few swallows of soda. He wiped his mouth and burped, holding his stomach gingerly. “I’m gonna try,” he said, looking down at Sherlock. “But I’m not sure.” 

“I believe in you,” Sherlock said, mock-seriously. 

“At least one of us does.” John picked the container of ice cream back up - it was still nearly three-quarters full, as was the soda. He ate more slowly, letting the ice cream nearly melt in his mouth before swallowing. It seemed to make each bite ache a little less, but the change was fairly negligible at this point. He alternated soda with ice cream every few bites, just to change it up, but when both containers were half empty, John stopped and shook his head. “God.” 

He stared down at his middle, which was cresting further away from his body than he’d ever seen it before. Some of the food had started to settle, making his belly rounder at the bottom, but even the top was filling out again. He was aching all over, and was truly unsure if he’d be able to eat another single bite. 

Sherlock laid his hand on the top of John’s belly, in the middle, where the skin stretched the most. He pressed down lightly, making John grunt. “Come on,” he encouraged. “You want to be so full, I know you do.” 

John did. He did want to be so full, but he was already so full. He ran his hands down his sides, breathing slowly and feeling his belly stretch beneath his hands. He felt huge and heavy. But he wanted to be huger and heavier. He nodded slowly and took the ice cream when Sherlock handed it to him again. 

Up on his knees, without the support of his thighs, John could feel how every swallow of soda and ice cream made his belly heavier. He could even feel it inside of himself, how the ice cream and soda fizzed and expanded. His stomach seemed unrealistically big. He was nearly finished with the ice cream, and still had a little less than half a bottle of the soda left over, when he had to stop again. His stomach was starting to pang a little, and it was churning lethargically under his hands. 

“If you need to stop, you can,” Sherlock said quietly, rubbing the distended organ lightly. “You’re huge.” 

John nodded and considered for a second, short of breath. He burped again and pressed a hand to his belly, which was hot beneath his palm. “I c’n finish,” he said, and took the ice cream again. 

The last of the ice cream went down with a mixture of winces and burps. John couldn’t bend over to pick up the soda, so Sherlock picked it up, waiting for John to catch his breath before handing it over. “If you need to stop,” he repeated, but John cut him off. 

“I c’n do it.” He took another shallow breath, holding his stomach like it could rupture, and started to drink the soda. 

There wasn’t room in his stomach for burps anymore. John’s swallows were minuscule, and he burped after every one, because there simply was not space to hold anything extra, even if it was just air. John had trouble swallowing the last few ounces of soda, and had to force it down into his packed, overfull stomach. When the last of it finally landed in his stomach, he groaned quietly, leaning forward a little and holding his stomach in both hands. 

“John,” Sherlock said quietly. “You…you are massive.” 

“I feel massive,” John said thickly, cradling his belly carefully, like it might burst at any moment. 

“You have never eaten so much in your life,” Sherlock said in awe. “I know it must look huge to you, but even to me…I did not know a person could conceivably _get_ this big.” 

John nodded, soothing his lurching, gurgling belly with both hands. He felt pregnant - or, he supposed, as close to pregnant as he could approximate - so utterly full that he couldn’t think of anything else but how full he was. He scraped his fingernails up his skin and moaned - as his skin shivered and contracted, it pulled on his stomach. 

He held his hand out for Sherlock and gestured toward the bedroom. There was a mirror in the hallway, and John wanted to see himself. Very badly. From his perspective, all he could see was a truly vast expanse of skin, gone white with the strain, blue veins running along the surface of his distended belly. He was short of breath, he was so full. Sherlock helped him off the sofa and even that change, from standing on his knees to standing on his feet, made his lungs burn. 

He straightened up and groaned, more loudly this time. “Feel like I could burst,” he said, holding his belly in both hands. 

Sherlock’s eyebrows lifted. “You look like you could burst,” he said honestly. 

“Thanks f’r the vote of confidence,” John said drily. He eyed the distance between his current location and the hallway mirror, trying to assess if he could make it. Then he caught sight of something he’d forgotten —

The half bowl of pudding. 

“Gimme the pudding,” he said, eyes gleaming. Sherlock’s own eyes went wide, and he stared at John incredulously. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Gimme the pudding,” John repeated, holding one hand out for the bowl while the other rested on his monstrous stomach. “Gonna eat it on my - urp, on my way to th’ mirror.” 

“John, I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Sherlock said, picking up the bowl but keeping it out of John’s reach. “You’re already too full, you might hurt yourself.” 

“I know my limits,” John said thickly, stifling another burp. He waved his hand for the bowl. Sherlock gave it to him, albeit reluctantly. “Thanks,” he said, when Sherlock finally handed it to him, and he rested the half-full dish on his stomach as he took a step forward. 

He could feel his stomach creaking with the effort of containing everything they’d stuffed it with. The pudding was an additional challenge, but John was determined. For every step he took, he took a bite of pudding. One step, one bite. One step, one bite. 

He was four steps away from the mirror. He felt ready to burst. There was still a quarter bowl of pudding left - more than four spoonfuls. Staring at the mirror, John made a decision. 

He took a step toward the mirror, scraping the pudding from the sides of the bowl. He kept waddling, scraping the bowl until all the remaining pudding was in one area at the bottom of the dish. He stood in front of the mirror, squaring himself for a frontal view, but didn’t look. 

He lifted the bowl to his lips and heard Sherlock’s shuddering intake of breath. John himself felt like shuddering, but he was too full to do so. His stomach protested violently, the distended organ cramping as John poised himself to finish the pudding. 

Like this, with his head tipped back and legs spread to keep himself steady, John’s poor belly was hanging without any support at all. The weight was massive, tugging at his skin as though he was holding a boulder within himself. John drew in a shaky breath and started to spoon the pudding into his mouth. 

He knew from where Sherlock stood, he’d be able to see John’s belly growing even fuller with every swallow. As full as he was, every addition was visible, the mass of food traveling down his throat and into his stuffed, painful belly. He could hear Sherlock’s breaths quicken as he swallowed. He could feel his own stomach expanding, full to the point of bursting, and John wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish what he’d started. He paused to catch his breath, eyed the rest of the pudding in the bowl, and did the impossible. 

He finished. 

Swallowing hard, breathing shallowly, John didn’t dare touch his belly. He handed the bowl to Sherlock, who took it with a shaking hand. Ever so carefully, John laid one hand on either side of his aching, bloated, bulging, swollen, engorged belly and opened his eyes. 

What he saw was astonishing. The sandwiches, applesauce, water, milk, soda, ice cream, grapes, and pudding had made his stomach positively balloon, and he looked like he had swallowed a basketball which had then had a family of baby basketballs. His skin was so stretched it was white, blue veins crisscrossing the top. When John looked down, it came to a point. 

Ever so carefully, he turned to the side, waddling to do so. He groaned when he saw how far out his stomach stuck, big enough that his skin was pulling tight on the sides to accommodate it. If his belly had led the way into the room before, it led the way into an adjoining building, now - his stomach stuck out obscenely, stuffed full and then stuffed some more until it was perfectly round. 

John, nearly panting with short breaths, noticed a strange sensation in his stomach, and he held it carefully in both hands as he tried to suss out what exactly it was. There was a lot of sensation going on, given the situation, but after a moment he realized what this was. 

Instinctually, and involuntarily, John Watson was sucking his belly in. 

He moaned when he let his muscles loose, and his belly surged forward another few inches. The sudden expansion made his skin burn with the stretch, and he held his stomach with both hands, in utter agony. Sherlock made a choked noise behind him and rushed forward to help hold John up, grunting with the effort. The detective caught sight of his belly from the top view and gave an answering moan. John just held his stomach like it would burst, feeling slow and stuffed and utterly crammed with food. He stared down at his middle, his skin paper-thin and heaving with each shallow breath. He tipped his head up to look at Sherlock blearily. 

“I think…tummy may have reached its limit,” he said thickly, wincing and groaning when Sherlock’s laughter set his stomach to cramping again. 

“I think it may have, too. Let’s get you to bed, my stuffed turkey.” 

“Overstuffed turkey. Exploding turkey.” 

“Shall I take photos, exploding turkey?” 

There came the sound of a burp. “Yeah. Need something to compare to for next time.” 


End file.
